


Floored

by ARealPip



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternative scene for the Occlumency lessons, Angst, Canon Divergence Book Five, Gen, Harry hurts Snape by accident, Lily Potter's death, Memories, No beta all mistakes my own, Occlumency (Harry Potter), POV Harry, Snape hates Harry, Snape loves Lily, Tortured Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARealPip/pseuds/ARealPip
Summary: Harry's Occlumency lesson with Snape goes very strange when Harry lets Snape experience the memory of his mother's death.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	Floored

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that J.K. Rowling has said ignorant and hurtful things about transgender people. 
> 
> I chose to write in the Harry Potter universe, but my love of the characters Rowling has created does not mean that I endorse her bigotry. 
> 
> Transgender women started the fight for gay civil rights at Stonewall, and so I owe them a debt of gratitude for the life I and my family members can enjoy.

Fifteen year old Harry Potter was standing in the office of the man who, apart from Voldemort himself, he hated the most in the world. He was spectacularly failing at keeping his emotions under control, which was the first step to learning Occlumency, the art of protecting one's mind from being read by an enemy. 

"Potter, you aren't trying at all," said Snape. "You are an arrogant, ignorant, lazy, boy. You haven't practiced clearing your mind at all. Do you expect to sail past the Dark Lord based on the strength of your over-large reputation as you have everywhere else in your life?"

The potions master bent across the desk that was between them. Snape was so close that Harry could feel the waves of greasy sweat coming from his skin as the potions master screamed insults at him. 

Harry was filled with rage. And rage was the very thing that kept him from succeeding at these Occlumency lessons. And as long as he couldn't do Occlumency, he couldn't be done with having to come and see Snape every Wednesday evening. Harry was sure that Snape wasn't really trying to teach him, that he just enjoyed torturing and humiliating him every week. For a moment, as he studied a drop of sweat that was making its way down the large hooked nose of the screaming potions master, Harry wondered what would happen if he walked away and just refused to do any more of these so called 'lessons'. Dumbledore had asked him to do them, but even he would understand that there were limits, that a person could not just let themself be attacked and belittled and mocked week after week. But Harry suspected that if he walked out of Snape's dungeon office, Dumbledore would force him to return next week and the vicious potions master would get his revenge by making the next 'lesson' even more brutal. It was an inescapable problem. 

Snape concluded his angry diatribe by thumping the desk between them with his hand. Then he narrowed his beady black eyes. 

"Once again!", cried Snape, straightening up and aiming his wand at Harry. "And this time put in some effort. _Legilimens!_ "

Harry could feel all of his worst memories starting to come to the fore, all ready to be examined and mocked by his most hated teacher. And he felt his own rage and helplessness rise up into a lump in his throat. 

And then Harry had a brilliant idea, an idea that made all that rage just float away. If Snape wasn't even trying to teach him, then he, Harry, wouldn't try either. 

Harry let his mind go completely open. 'Take them', he thought 'Take all my worst memories. You can have them.' He could feel his memories unlocking, one after the other: his aunt abusing him, his cousin hitting him, Draco leading the Slytherin table in mocking him. He didn't even try to protect himself or keep Snape from seeing them. He felt himself stepping out of the way of the stream of memories and just letting them flow towards his enemy. And as he watched Snape's black eyes tighten with anger and frustration, Harry felt a little spark of angry joy. 

"TRY POTTER! OR I SHALL MAKE YOU REGRET WASTING MY TIME!"

"What are you going to do?", said Harry. "Finish the job Voldemort started? Kill me? Cause if you aren't, there's nothing you can do to me." 

And then, it was so easy to do it, Harry pulled up the memory that haunted his worst dreams, the memory of Voldemort killing his mother, the endless loop of her pleading and her final anguished scream. Remembering that scream with all his might, he stared into those hateful black eyes, and he pushed the memory towards Snape. 

Snape's eyes widened. His jaw dropped open. He staggered backwards. Harry stepped around the desk and raised his wand. He didn't know what exactly he was doing, but his anger seemed to unleash some hateful instinct. He pointed his wand at the professor who had tortured him for over four years, and he kept pushing his worst memory right into him. The memory came to him with greater clarity than ever before. It was more detailed than ever, he could see feel and hear every detail as Voldemort crept into his parents' house and raised his wand and killed his father and then stepped into Harry's nursery. As he remembered each bit of his worst nightmare, Harry let the memories flow out of his own mind and towards his enemy.

"Have it all!", said Harry, as he stalked closer to the frozen Snape. "You wanted it. You can have it." And as the memory unspooled, Harry felt himself grow lighter, as if he was actually letting something go. The air in front of Snape seemed to be grey and thick and damp, and the potions master seemed curiously frozen, his face a rictus of terror as he inhaled the grey mist. Harry couldn't stop the memory anymore, it just kept unspooling and flowing away from him, and, in front of him, Snape was slowly sinking to the ground. At first his horror-stricken face was even with Harry's and then it was lower as he slowly sunk to his knees. 

Now they were to the part of the memory where Harry's mother Lily was pleading for Harry's life, and Harry could barely hear his mother's words, but Snape's mouth was silently forming them. And then Snape was no longer silent. Harry had never heard Snape's voice sound this way before. For once he was unsneering and unironic. "No!", Snape cried hoarsely. "Please! Take me instead!" And then, just at the moment when memory-Lily was struck with the killing curse, Snape screamed, a high pitched scream of terror as if it was he that was being murdered. Then, as if he himself had been struck by Voldemort's killing spell, the potion master's body jerked and twisted and fell the rest of the way to the floor of the dungeon.

There was silence. The grey mist was gone. Harry realized, with a start, that he'd succeeded beyond his wildest hopes. He finally shown Snape. Finally. He couldn't possibly be required to take these torturous Occlumency lessons ever again. But, as he looked down at his vanquished enemy, who was lying curled up on his side, wandless, in a heap of black robes and greasy hair, instead of a feeling of triumph, Harry felt a heavy lump of fear in his stomach. Seeing Snape's wand lying on the floor, he kicked it as hard as he could and sent it spinning along the flagstones until it hit a wall and bounced off to clatter among some large bottles in a corner of the room. 

When Snape woke up, he would be furious, and his retribution would be worse than anything he'd ever done to Harry before. Harry's best hope was to find Professor Dumbledore and beg for protection. Surely Snape wouldn't attack him in front of the headmaster. Surely Dumbledore would understand that what Harry had done, whatever it was, was in self-defense. It wasn't as if he had used an unforgivable curse. 

Then Harry's racing thoughts supplied him with a frightening thought. What if the memory of Voldemort using the unforgivable curse had some power? Was it possible that his own anger coupled with such a strong memory of Voldemort was enough to kill someone? Surely not. He gently prodded Snape's unmoving body with his toe. The potions master was probably just unconcious, and the last thing he wanted was to wake Snape up. Even wandless, an enraged Snape would be terrifying and Harry didn't think he could hope to get lucky twice. 

Snape didn't move at all. Harry's heart was racing. Grasping his own wand firmly in one hand, he bent down and flicked the greasy hair back from Snape's face. The black eyes were open, but they didn't move. Harry waved his hand in front of the hooked nose. The eyes didn't blink or move. 

'I've killed him,' thought Harry. 'I'm a murderer.' He looked around the dungeon. If he left now, nobody would know. When Snape didn't come to class tomorrow, someone would come and search his dungeons and they'd find his body, and they might imagine that he poisoned himself with a potion gone wrong. They wouldn't suspect Harry. 

Quickly, Harry ran to the corner of the room where he'd last seen the Slytherin headmaster's wand. If he laid the wand on the floor near to Snape, it would look like he'd fallen over. These sorts of wizarding accidents happened all the time. He picked up the long heavy black wand. It felt warm in his hand. 

He crept closer to the pile of black robes on the floor. As he bent down to place the wand next to its deceased owner, he found that his hands were shaking. His eyes were swelling and his vision was swimming. As he stood over the body a shiver ran all the way up his spine, and then his own body, as if to tell him that it was still very much alive, started to shake all over. 

Harry needed to leave before he was found here, standing over the body. Because then everyone in Hogwarts would know what he now knew in his heart, that he was a murderer like Voldemort was. All those people who had whispered about him being the Heir of Slytherin would be vindicated. Maybe Harry was destined to be a more powerful dark wizard than Voldemort had ever been. After all, Voldemort needed the killing curse, and he, Harry, had the power to kill with just a thought. 

But then, if his powers were so great now, when he was only fifteen, they would only grow. How long would it be until he got into a fight with Ron or Hermione and his anger turned into another accidental killing? No. He wouldn't let that happen. He would leave Hogwarts. He would live alone, in hiding from the wizarding world, like Sirius had. Maybe he could get a message to Sirius and his godfather would join him. He would hide, and neither Voldemort nor any innocent witches and wizards need ever find him. 

Harry realized that he was leaning up against a wall, shaking. He slowly lowered himself to the floor. His body was racked with shaking. He started to sob. It wasn't fair. He hadn't meant to do it at all. If Snape hadn't pushed him, it wouldn't have happened. He would have never known he had this power. Or perhaps, he would have known eventually, but at least he could have had a few more years of happiness with his friends. He might have finished school with them, innocent and unknowning. 

"I hate you!", said Harry. And he kicked at Snape's body. Hard. 

A low groan came from the body. And, before Harry's horrified eyes, Snape's body came back to life with grunts and cries. Snape was twitching on the floor as if he were having a fit. He was alive after all. 

And as long as he stayed alive, Harry wasn't a murderer. 

Harry stood up and pointed his wand at Snape. He tried to think of any spell that would cure or help a person having a fit, but he didn't know any healing spells. He needed to get help. He needed Madame Pomfrey. But how to get her to come here without her finding out that he was the one who injured Snape? Suddenly, Harry knew what to do.

"Dobby!", he shouted. "Dobby, I need you."

CRACK 

The house elf was suddenly there in the dim dungeon. 

"What is Harry Potter needing?", said Dobby. "Harry Potter looks quite distressed."

"Um," said Harry. He gestured at the twitching and moaning figure on the floor. "Professor Snape is having some kind of a fit. He needs help. I need you to fetch--" And then Harry had a change of heart. He had been about to ask Dobby to fetch Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, but he realized that she would have all sorts of questions and he wouldn't know how to answer them. "Um," said Harry. "Could you fetch Dumbledore? Don't let anyone overhear you talking to him. Tell him there's an emergency here in the dungeons."

"Of course, Harry Potter, Sir," said Dobby. "Right away." And, with a CRACK, he disappeared. 

"Right," said Harry. He bent down and picked up Snape's wand again. "Now just don't die on me before Dumbledore gets here." Snape continued to make inarticulate cries. Harry paced around the cramped little dungeon office, staring at jars of pickled animals, glowing vials of potions, and stoppered clay jars with tiny labels on them. Surely there was some potion in this room that would set Snape to rights. Hopefully it would also have the side effect of erasing his memory of the evening's events. 

There was creaking of a door opening and then Dumbledore was in the room, Dobby at his heels. 

"Thank you Dobby," said Dumbledore. "You may return to your work."

The headmaster's eyes swept the room. He took in Harry, standing there terrified, a wand in each hand, and then his eyes rested on the twitching, crying professor on the floor. 

"What happened?", said Dumbledore. 

"I didn't mean to," said Harry. 

Dumbledore crossed the room and bent over Snape. He took out his wand. He circled the fallen professor, tilting his head from side to side, as Harry babbled. 

"It was the Occlumency lesson, Sir, and he was trying to get into my mind and I just reacted, I didn't know it would do this. He was trying to find my worst memories and so I--" Harry faltered.

The headmaster looked at him severely and Harry continued in a very small and squeaky voice. "I got angry and I sent him the worst memory I had."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 

"Is he going to live?", said Harry. 

Dumbledore didn't answer. He waved his wand and the table and cauldrons in the center of the room all stacked themselves neatly against a wall. With another wave of his wand a settee and a cushioned stool popped into existence and settled themselves in the newly created empty space. He muttered again and made a slight motion that Harry recognized, and then the curled up body of Professor Snape was lifted up off the floor and deposited, twitching and moaning, onto the settee. 

Dumbledore began to walk around perimeter of the room, looking at the vials and bottles, pausing occasionally turn over a label and peer closely at it. 

"Which memory?", muttered Dumbledore.

"Uh, Sir?"

"Which memory did you send? Can you describe it?"

"It was the one where Voldemort killed my mother."

Dumbledore turned sharply to look at Harry. He didn't say anything, but Harry got the distinct impression that he was expected to elaborate, so he did.

"Um, I have this memory, where he comes into my parents' house and he sees my father and he kills him and then he goes into the nursery and my mother stands in front of me and begs him to spare my life and then he laughs and kills her." But as Harry was describing it, he realized that the memory felt very distant and hazy and not nearly as disturbing as it really ought to be, considering that he had always been too upset by it to even share the details with Ron. 

Dumbledore's eyes widened. He nodded very slowly, as if he were considering something. "A very detailed memory for a toddler to have," he said at last. And then he seemed to shake himself, and he went back to puttering along the shelves. At last he seemed to find what he wanted, and he pulled a bottle off of the shelf, pulled a small goblet from his sleeve and poured a generous measure of whatever was in the bottle into the goblet. Then he sat down on the little cushioned stool, right in front of Snape. 

Harry plastered himself against a wall, hiding in the shadows, half wishing that Dumbledore would dismiss him and half wanting to stay to see whatever was about to happen. 

Dumbledore put a hand under Snape's head and lifted the goblet to his lips. "Severus," he said. "Drink up, there's a good fellow." Snape moaned and he slowly began to sip, his head lolling between sips of potion. "It's all right now."

"No," said Snape. "It will never be all right again. She's gone. I was too late."

"Slow down," said Dumbledore. "Take a few more sips." But Snape sat up and pushed the goblet away, spilling it onto Dumbledore's robes.

"Didn't you hear me? She's gone, Albus. Gone. It was all for nothing!" And his face twisted up in a horrible way, and he wailed as his hands flew up to the side of his head. He began tearing out great chunks of his own hair. 

"You are confused," said Dumbledore. He picked up the jug of potion and refilled the goblet. He proffered it to the hysterical potions master. "Please," he said. And he raised an eyebrow in solicitous way. 

"It doesn't matter," replied Snape. "I don't want to be calm. There's nothing left for me. I need to make it end. Just leave me."

"No," replied Dumbledore. And he held out the goblet again. Snape shook his head and threw himself sideways onto the settee and howled in anguish. 

Harry felt like he was wearing an invisiblity cloak. Snape hadn't even noticed him. And Harry had never seen Snape cry. It was something he'd never imagined and it was twisting up his insides in a way that was very disconcerting. There had been so many times that he had vehemently wished for Snape to suffer, but now that it came down to it, he found that actually watching the man suffer, actually seeing his face wet with tears and watching him tear out his greasy hair, was another matter altogether. It was very unpleasant and Harry found himself sidling towards the doorway and hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't notice that he was leaving.

And then, just a half step from the doorway, Harry heard something that made him freeze in place. 

"Lily," Snape said. And then he sobbed again. 

Harry just stood there. He couldn't see over the back of the settee from this angle, but he could hear the anguished sounds, and they didn't make any sense to him. Why was Professor Snape calling out the name of his dead mother? It couldn't be a coincidence. Something very strange was happening and Harry struggled to understand. Perhaps, along with the memory, Harry had transferred some of his own feelings, and Snape was experiencing Harry's own anguish at losing his mother. But that didn't make sense, because if he was experiencing Harry's feelings, he ought to be saying "Mum." 

Some of the sounds that were coming from the settee resolved into phrases that Harry could make out. "Failed you," and "My poor Lily," and "So brave." And then, very slowly, the beginnings of comprehension dawned on Harry. He dimly understood that there was something about Severus Snape that he needed to understand, something to do with his own mother. He sidled back along the wall, so that he could see Professor Snape's face. 

"There, there, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Just another sip. There's a good fellow."

Snape was drinking from the goblet again. He swallowed a mouthful, and took a deep breath, then he sat up straighter and blinked. He took another sip. Then he looked around and he saw Harry and his whole face went white. 

"YOU!", he screamed. "GET OUT!" 

Harry plastered himself against the wall, and looked to Dumbledore, who held up a hand, seeming to signal for him to stay put. 

"It's a bit late to be worrying about your dignity Severus," said Dumbledore. "May I suggest, perhaps, honesty?"

Snape made a strangled noise and glared at the headmaster. "You gave your word."

"And I've kept it," said Dumbledore. "And now it is up to you whether you leave Harry to speculate, or whether you wish to enlighten him." He spread his hands and smiled gently. 

Snape shook his head minutely. He scowled. 

"Well, then," said Dumbledore, taking his wand and a small bottle out from the sleeves of his robes. "In that case, we should really be giving Harry his memory back."

Snape's eyes widened. "It's mine now," he hissed. With chunks of hair missing from his head and his face still grey and blotchy, he looked like a crazed maniac. 

Dumbledore stared him down. Snape met those blue eyes with his own for almost a minute before his coal black eyes dropped. Then his shoulders slumped and he leaned forward and allowed Dumbledore to pull a long tendril of glistening silver from his temple. It seemed to get stuck towards the end and Dumbledore put one hand on Snape's shoulder and murmured something into his ear. Snape gave a little hitching cry as the last of the memory came free, and then he stood up quickly, almost knocking into Dumbledore, and rushed out the door of the dungeon without even looking at Harry.

Dumbledore put a stopper in the little bottle and then twirled his wand around it and a wax seal appeared and coated the stopper. With a slight wave, he gestured for Harry to come over to the settee. With a swish of his wand, he made a small side table appear, and he set down the bottle on top of it. Inside the bottle the memory threw itself around so violently that it made the bottle rock from side to side. Dumbledore materialized a little box lined with velvet cushions and then he picked the bottle up and placed it inside and closed the lid. He looked at the piles of greasy hair on the cushions and on the floor, and, with a slight movement of his wand, he vanished them. 

Then Dumbledore turned and looked at Harry with his piercing blue eyes. His eyes wrinkled and narrowed and Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore understood a great deal more about the events of the evening than Harry did. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said at last. "Is there anything else you would care to tell me about what transpired between you and Professor Snape this evening?"

Harry shook his head. 

"Professor," said Harry. "Did that memory almost kill him? Can memories do that?"

"Generally not," said Dumbledore. "But this particular memory is most unusually potent."

"Because it's of someone dying?", said Harry.

"Among other reasons, yes," said Dumbledore. 

"Other reasons?"

"Actually, Harry," said Dumbledore, "Though you would be well within your rights to refuse me, I would consider it to be a great favor if you would lend me your memory for a short time. I wish to better understand certain aspects of it. I would, of course, return it to you in good order."

Harry stared at the cushioned box that restrained the little bottle from throwing itself around. He did not want to part with the memory, as it was his only clear memory of his parents. Yet, though he missed it, with that memory gone, his heart felt strangely light. It might be nice to have a day or two of respite from carrying around the memory of his parents' violent death. "Okay," he said at last.

Dumbledore nodded his thanks. 

"And then," said Dumbledore, "There is the matter of Professor Snape's wand." Harry looked down at his fists, which, he now realized, were holding two wands, his own and Snape's. "According to Wizard Law," continued Dumbledore, "You do have the right to keep it. Although if you do, then Professor Snape would be well within his own rights to challenge you to a duel to win it back. And I daresay he will." 

Harry looked down at the wand, heavy and dark, and realized that it felt surprisingly comfortable in his hand. 

"I would be happy to return the wand to Professor Snape," said Dumbledore. "I am sure I will be speaking with him again soon." 

Harry nodded and placed the wand on the side table next to the box. 

"Well," said Dumbledore, "This has been quite an evening, and I'm sure you are exhausted. It's time I sent you to your bed, Harry."

"No, wait!", said Harry. "How come Snape knows my mother? Why did he care that she died? He hated my parents."

"Alas," said Dumbledore, "I cannot tell you. I must take myself to bed. I have a lot to be doing in the next few days and being well rested is the key to success for me as well as for you."

Harry tried to think of a response. He wanted to ask a half-dozen more questions, and he really felt he deserved the answers, but it was very clear that he wasn't going to get anything more from Professor Dumbledore tonight. 

"Good night, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Pip pip, off you go."

"Uh, yeah," said Harry. "Good night Professor."

  


**Author's Note:**

> This is probably a one-shot. I had this scene in my mind for years, and I just wanted to see how it played out. This is my first fanfic in the Harry Potter universe.


End file.
